Eliza asked us last night which we preferred, sunset or sunrise. The responses ranged drastically—sunrise because it was the beginning of a new day, because the colors were prettier, because of being a morning person; sunset because it was the conclusion to a long but rewarding day, the brilliant hues of orange, the beginning of “night-life.” I couldn’t decide at first—for both sunset and sunrise are equally beautiful and meaningful to me—and sat there murmuring “hmmm” and “uh-huh” and “oh yes, I agree” and “the sunset is gorgeous” and “but the sunrise is too!”
The next afternoon, I took out my skis and skied up the path to Blueberry Hill. It was around 4:30 and an orange sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky. Maybe I could see it by the time I reached the crest of the hill. I hurried on my skies and raced up the hill (balsam fir branches whacking my face and roots that stuck up in the snow like an alligator’s head tripping me)—I wanted to see the sun set! I made it, but just in the nick of time. I stood at the big rock overlooking the drop-off to the water as a rosy hue painted itself on the snow and trees around me. The glow seemed to fill me up with a warm, fizzing peach flavor that bubbled from the tips of my toes to the heights of my head. An orange sun slowly sunk beneath the far-off trees, sunk behind my house at home, sunk for all the animals in the woods. Clouds were spattered with pink blotches of color and stood out against a darkening sky. And there, across the bay, a yellow moon rose above the trees. The man-in-the-moon seemed to wink at me—and in the blink of an eye, he told me all the wonders of a sunset.
-Emily Guffin, Freeport, ME